


down towards the ground (gravity's proud)

by my_infinite_variety



Series: a runaway american dream [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Caring Derek, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Dialogue, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Derek Hale, First Kiss, Introspection, M/M, Mentioned Laura Hale, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek, Road Trips, Running Away, Sexual Tension, Showers, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_infinite_variety/pseuds/my_infinite_variety
Summary: derek and stiles stop for the night at a motel.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: a runaway american dream [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669585
Comments: 4
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from rosyln by bon iver and st. vincent

Derek decides to get a motel. It isn’t a selfless decision born of pity or sympathy. Definitely not. In fact, Derek just wants the teen in his passenger seat to take a shower.

It’s been a week and a half since their departure and they’ve been creeping across the west at a snail’s pace. Derek isn’t in a hurry to rush back and he’s certain Stiles isn’t either, but sometimes he smells the spice of anger in the air when the human looks down at the contact list in his phone. He wonders if the only thing luring Stiles back home is the swift ass-whooping he’s sure to dish out the next time he sees Scott McCall’s face. 

The thought barely forms before he considers that he’s been in the car with Stiles for too long. By the time he catches sight of a motel tucked between a Waffle House and a gas station, his mind is made up and he pulls into the parking lot. 

Stiles, for the most part, slept for the first few days of their trip. Derek remembers the days after the fire, vaguely. He knows he did the same, so he makes it his job to feed the fragile teen he’s decided to drag across the country. It’s the least he can do. Now, after days on the road, Stiles is using entertainment instead of unconsciousness as a distraction. 

They’ve been to a couple festivals since the lanterns, went hiking for a couple days through a national park, and Derek isn’t proud to admit that he has a wolf bobble head sitting on his dashboard from Stiles’ adventures at a flea market. All of these things and the two of them have survived on junk food, bottled soda, and sink baths in gas station bathrooms.

Derek may be a werewolf, but he still has standards.

Stiles, when Derek gets out of the car without a word and digs through the trunk for their things, scrambles out as well and catches the dufflebag tossed his way with an ease that’s come with their cohabitation. He doesn’t ask any questions, which is something that makes Derek both relieved and dejected. The alpha’s done his fair share of complaining, sure, but Stiles not being himself isn’t something to celebrate.

It isn’t an issue getting the key to their room, a double bed, and before Derek knows it he’s sprawled across an actual bed. The room spells of mold and other organic material he would rather not think about, but it’s better than the front seat of his car any day.

“You want the shower first?”

The question comes from the doorway, where Stiles is still standing with his bag over his shoulder and his brows arched in question. Derek raises his eyebrows back, his eyes running down and up the teen’s body in the most judgmental way he can manage without being a horrible human being. 

“Fair point.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing behind the worn motel bathroom door. The water starts running almost immediately, Stiles probably trying to get the water to warm up as he gets undressed, and Derek takes the opportunity to dig through his own bag for a comfortable set of clothes for the night.

He digs out an old pair of plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt, feeling like a kid with the clothes in his arms. He smiles as the image of his mother sitting next to his bed fills his head, the memory of her voice singing him to sleep and her hands tucking him in a fond one that he’s clung to since the fire. His hands curl into loose fists around the fabric of his clothing, his thumbs running over the material so worn from his travelling. 

The door to the bathroom opens and he lifts his head, his mouth going dry at the sight of Stiles standing in the doorway. He’s wearing red t-shirt and the black sweatpants he’s sporting are slung low on his hips. His hair doesn’t drip with water like they write about in those trashy romance novels Laura used to read (which is a relief, because not drying his hair after a shower like a normal person is something that would make Derek truly worry about Stiles’ mental health) but he’s something out of a wet-dream nonetheless. Derek considers that there might be something wrong with him for thinking sweatpants and a t-shirt are attractive. 

“Your turn.”

His adam’s apple bobs and he nods, rising to his feet, slipping around Stiles, and stepping into the bathroom.

He doesn’t come out for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stiles does something he regrets.

Stiles expects Derek to be a minimalist (i.e. a five minute shower kind of guy).

What he doesn’t expect is that Derek takes showers that more accurately round up to forty-five minutes. 

When his companion of the past week and a half steps out of the bathroom, clad in comfortable pajamas and vigorously drying his hair, Stiles can’t help but smile. He looks like a little kid, too-long sleep pants catching under his heels when his walks. It;s almost too endearing to associate with his Derek, the one with red eyes, sharp teeth, and a scowl that could make hair curl. 

Derek, when he’s deemed his hair dry enough, looks up to catch Stiles smiling and the teen can’t help but blush. Stiles isn’t one to blush attractively, has never been. Instead, he looks like a ripe tomato on a good day and Hellboy on a bad one (only less scary and badass). It’s not his fault necessarily. He’d inherited the trait from his- 

His smile fades and the blush that had previous spread across his face disappears. He knows he isn’t going to cry. He hasn’t since the day of the funeral, since the day Derek scooped him into his arms and offered to drive until Stiles didn’t want to run anymore. 

He doesn’t have to say anything. Never does when something like this happens. Derek just lowers himself down onto the bed next to him, drapes an arm over his shoulders, and pulls Stiles against his side. Stiles lets himself be held for nearly a minute, just pays attention to the coinciding inhales and exhales of their breathing. Then he raises his head, stays inside the circle of his friend’s arms, and meets red alpha eyes. 

Barely a blink and they’re gone, replaced by blue-green-grey once again before lids fall to cover them, and Stiles can’t bring himself to ask. He so desperately wants to. He wants to replace the emptiness in his heart with all of the little things other people don’t know about Derek. He wants to know what makes him smile when he’s alone, what he dreams about, what his major was in college. So he leans in and learns the texture of his lips first. After all, he has to start somewhere.

Derek’s lip press against his like granite, stiff and still, until they don’t. Derek’s hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, to thread through the strands of his hair, and the kiss is nothing like he imagined.

It’s slow and tentative, like the two of them haven’t been through hell and back together, like they haven’t seen each other at their worst. Derek kisses him like they’re fifteen and still dreaming of forevers, while picket fences, and two kids. He’d imagined their first kiss to be rushed and desperate, more of a reassurance than a press of lips. This is something unfamiliar and Stiles can’t complain.

But Stiles craves more, presses forward to deepen the kiss, and Derek jerks from him like he’s been burned. They aren’t touching at all anymore with Derek standing across the room, facing the wall with his head in his hands. The other bed separates them.

“Derek,” he says, beginning to stand when Derek cuts him off with a growl.

“Go to bed, Stiles.”

He listens and doesn’t know why, crawls under the moth-eaten blanket covering his mattress. Neither he nor Derek sleep much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget to comment!

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to comment!


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